


Snarl

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Marking, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 07:47:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3439274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lindir’s submit himself to his halfling’s possession.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snarl

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Bilbo's very possessive. Biting; marking; claiming; grabbing and man- hobbit-handling his lover, possibly while snarling "MINE!" at other people. I like the idea of Bilbo being really obvious about this, so even the most oblivious dwarves and elves know who Bilbo's lover belongs to, but I'm also fond of a sneaky Bilbo using subtle, hobbity ways and secret hobbity customs” prompt on [The Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/11476.html?thread=24049364#t24049364).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Even as he gets dressed in the morning, his fingers are still shaking. It isn’t the first time he’s been claimed by his lover, but each time is as brutal, as ferocious as the last. It leaves him longing, leaves him exhausted and dizzy, but still drawn to _more_ ; the rigorous sex he’s dragged through is more intoxicating than any wine.

And he would never have thought that from the sight of little Bilbo, who can smile so innocently and speak so gently. Hobbits, apparently, are very different creatures beneath the sheets. As Lindir perches on the edge of the mattress, slowly buttoning up his robes, Bilbo crawls across the bed to sit behind him, nestled in against his back, wrapping short but strong arms around him. Bilbo’s hands are greedy and know no shame. Now that Lindir’s submit himself to Bilbo’s touch, Bilbo acts as though he _owns_ Lindir, and Lindir, having tasted that lewd flame, doesn’t know if he could have it any other way. 

One hand rubs over Lindir’s left nipple through his robes, the other slipping into the unbuttoned seam to trace Lindir’s pale skin below. Bilbo’s teeth graze along Lindir’s shoulder, up the arc of his long neck, and across his jaw. When the hand toying with his nipple pulls away, Lindir’s grateful; it’s difficult to make his trembling fingers work under the reminder of Bilbo’s possessive love. Bilbo uses that hand to draw back the curtain of Lindir’s hair and bite into the side of his face, probably leaving more pink grooves to brand Lindir as Bilbo’s. 

Lindir’s covered in bruises. The bite marks are deep and linger even above his collar, the scratch and finger marks everywhere, most prevalent around his waist. His wrists are still red from being pinned so fiercely against the headboard. But perhaps the most telling thing is the stench about him, _Bilbo’s_ scent. It’s pressed tight against his skin, clinging almost uncomfortably to the cheeks of his ass and the creases of his crotch. As Bilbo’s mouth nibbles on the tip of his ear, Lindir asks, “If you were staying, and I did not have to wait for you to return from your mad quest... would I be expected to wear soiled clothing every day?” By hobbit customs, at least. Lord Elrond has always encouraged him to try other cultures, but Lindir doubts that this is what his lord meant. 

Bilbo purrs, still sounding husky and full of desire, “Hobbits are always scented by their men for the day after being taken. ...You could mark me too, if you like.” But they both know that Lindir would never do such a thing, and Lindir shakes his head. It’s not the Elven way, and it feels vaguely... _sinful_.

Bilbo’s hand is forced to slip away from his chest as he does up the final buttons. He tries to smooth the fabric over, wanting to look proud and proper, but it’s difficult with Bilbo biting and licking his ear. It takes him a few extra seconds to gather the strength to leave. 

He has duties to attend to. He forces himself to stand up, to pull out of Bilbo’s grasp, while Bilbo quietly growls behind him. It’s a feral noise, something that should make Lindir cringe at how under evolved hobbits are compared to elves, but instead, it only makes him shiver with the memory of Bilbo’s more ruthless moments. Lindir has sampled a few lovers in his young life, but never any so exciting as this halfling. 

He takes a step away from the bed, headed towards the door, but a hand shoots out to fist in his hair, and it jerks his skull back. Gasping, Lindir is tugged back to the bed and forced to turn his head, while Bilbo lifts up on his knees to reach Lindir’s lips. They share one final, fiery kiss, with Bilbo’s fingers kept twisted in his hair. He’s held in place while Bilbo ravishes his mouth, sucks on his tongue and bites into his lower lip, tugging it and chewing on it enough to make it swell a little fuller, a little redder. When he’s released, he’s breathless. Bilbo hisses, “Don’t forget who you belong to.”

Lindir just barely stifles his moan and manages to breathe, “I won’t.”

“Good.” The next kiss is sweeter, something fleeting and gentle, pressed into Lindir’s forehead. Once all of the sex is over, Lindir knows that Bilbo will be soft and kind again, with all that hunger buried deep below the surface. Bilbo even rubs noses with Lindir while he murmurs, “I promise I’ll come back.” Then he lets go of Lindir’s hair, and Lindir is free to straighten up. 

He hopes Bilbo comes back. He truly does. It’s strange, but Lindir finds he _likes_ feeling possessed. It’s an exquisite feeling, walking towards the door knowing that Bilbo’s eyes are fixed on the sway of his rear. It’s difficult for Lindir to keep his walk smooth, but he tries. 

When he opens the door, he’s forced to brush past Thorin Oakenshield. He doesn’t miss the glare he’s given; Lindir’s aware that all the dwarves _know_. He hangs his head, because he doesn’t want to have a staring contest, and it’s embarrassing to have a horde of dwarves know just how owned he is. His cheeks stain pink too easily. But it’s not so embarrassing as to not be worth it, and Lindir sweeps away before Thorin can smell Bilbo’s mark on him. 

He can only hope, as he strolls through the halls of Rivendell, that his lord doesn’t mind him coming back such a wreck, yet he can’t help but wonder with a spark of pleasure if he’ll be allowed to sleep anywhere but Bilbo’s bed during the dwarves’ stay.


End file.
